


Lost & Found

by williamspockspeare



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Spock (Star Trek), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Mind Meld, Mutual Pining, Post-Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, Reconciliation, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, T'hy'la, This is just sappy and sad and full of feelings ok, a little bit of fluff here and there, more than a few whale references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamspockspeare/pseuds/williamspockspeare
Summary: "His questions were worse – more fundamental. Did Spock feel for him at all? Did he even want to be around him any more?And, if not, what would Jim do?"Though they've saved the world from another existential threat, Jim is left to wonder what the future holds for him, and how much Spock remembers of their previous relationship. When Spock broaches the issue of their past, will they discover a way into the future together - or will their differences prove irreconcilable? (Set at the end of TVH)
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 21
Kudos: 99





	Lost & Found

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Gosh, I'm finally back with another fic. Quarantine has been a real creativity suck, so I'm very proud of myself for getting this fic onto the page at all. This is my first foray into writing Old Married Spirk, and I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a comment, kudos, or a bookmark to let me know what you thought. <3

The room was dark, except for the glow of the fireplace.

There was a kind of hollowness here. An echo that rang in the air since they had landed on Earth – their Earth. A kind of memory, almost like the distant, strangely mournful cry of whales across the San Francisco Bay.

Jim wondered what George and Gracie must be thinking.

Yes, to outside observation, all peril had been averted. They were home. But surely the whales felt the different temperature. They must remember their tank at the Cetacean Institute. They had eyes, senses – they had to compare their warm memories to these cold, unknown waters of the Bay, even if it was the same place. This world must take on an entirely different shape. It was practically the same as their old beloved one; but they _must_ see the difference. They had to feel that loss, no matter how small, how insignificant.

Surely they remembered?

Or maybe Jim was just tired of being alone in that feeling.

The trial had gone better than any of them could’ve imagined. They were freed from reprisal for their disregard of Starfleet regulation. He was a captain again. In two weeks, the ex-crew of the Enterprise was due to embark on a new mission. They had a chance at discovery, and exploration, all those familiar words from the past.

They had all been offered a kind of rebirth.

Rebirth.

Jim didn’t find that idea so hopeful as he once did.

“You’re gonna wear your eyes out, staring like that.”

The words brought Jim out of his thoughts, back into the reality of his San Francisco apartment, the simulated fireplace in his living room he had been dully staring into.

McCoy sat in the opposing armchair. His brow furrowed slightly. A tumbler of Saurian brandy sat in his palm, taking a momentary second place in the doctor’s priorities to Jim’s well-being.

“I know,” Jim said, softly, but looked back into the fire. “I’m sorry I haven’t been very good conversation tonight.”

“Well, you never are.”

He relinquished a hum of laughter. It mellowed in the lapse of silence.

McCoy shifted forward in his seat. “What’re you gonna do about him?”

Jim opened his lips to respond. But there was nothing that he hadn’t already said. He reached for his untouched glass of brandy on the table.

“Jim. You know you can’t keep ignoring this forever.”

“I’m not ignoring it.”

“You sure as hell aren’t acknowledging it. We’ve only got two weeks.” McCoy shook his head. “Do you even know if Spock wants to be on the crew?”

The question stung.

Jim ran a fingertip over the rim of the glass. “Command assigned him. He said he’d follow their directive.”

“And you’re just ok with that? That he’d put obeying orders over being with—”

“ _Yes_.” The word had bite to it. “It doesn’t matter why he stays, only that…” He didn’t need to say it. Jim shut his eyes. “I can’t tell him what to do. I don’t think I ever could. It doesn’t matter. He’s here.”

“For now. But you know it won’t be the same.”

Jim stayed silent. McCoy had a nasty habit of verbalizing his most painful thoughts.

“Has he even said three words to you since the trial?”

Maybe he would have a drink after all. Jim took a mouthful, drew the burning liquid through his teeth.

McCoy pressed on. “Then how do you know what he wants? You don’t know why he decided to stay here at all.”

“He wants to be here.”

“’Cause it’s one of the only places on Earth he remembers, I’ll bet.”

Jim fixed him in a glare; McCoy met it unflinchingly. There wasn’t a good counter argument. He looked away, and put his head in his hands.

That seemed to anger McCoy even more.

“Jesus, Jim, are you just gonna give up? After we’ve come so far? You’re the one who’s supposed to believe in no-win scenarios – you know they don’t just fix themselves.”

“This isn’t a test.” His tone, his anger made Bones withdraw into his seat. “This isn’t something I can just…order him to do.” Jim released a bitter huff of air. “You of all people should know that I’ve never had the power to keep him with me.”

A momentary flash of memory. The glass of the radiation chamber. The doors finally opening, what felt like days later. How cold, how unreal he had felt, like a wax figure, not him, not really, it couldn’t… _Don’t take him from me, please don’t—_

He realized Bones had shifted to the edge of his seat, had reached across to grab his arm. Jim’s eyes were stinging, but hadn’t betrayed him yet.

“It’s not hopeless. There’s time.”

Jim shook his head.

“I thought he was starting to remember.”

Treading water in the bay, they had clung to each other beneath the rolling waves. Completely drenched, the impenetrable Vulcan stoicism dissolved, and the man beside him had caught his breath with gasps of laughter, with a kind of joy that Jim remembered from a prior intimacy, that he had only dared to dream of finding again.

And in the trial, upon their acquittal, the look Spock had given him as they turned – a look that had echoed the whispers of _my t’hy’la_ that had haunted Jim ever since Spock’s hand slipped away from the glass.

The questions stabbed at him. Not even those about what Spock remembered, what he knew about their relationship, their love. No, the questions were worse – more fundamental. Did Spock feel for him at all? Did he even want to be around him any more?

And, if not, what would Jim do?

Perception was so easily corrupted. What Jim had seen in those moments was what he wanted to see. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Spock had all but exiled himself in the room Jim had offered in his apartment.

Once he might have said _their_ apartment.

No doubt Spock could feel Jim’s desperation. Because God, he ached for what they had been. It was almost worse – sensing that he was here, so tantalizingly close, and yet waking to an empty bed, feeling the distance that couldn’t be crossed between them.

He was being selfish. They had come through hell, clawed Spock back from death. It was the height of arrogance to feel cheated now. No doubt Spock was haunted by all the things lost and unremembered too, and suffered for it.

Just not in the way Jim did.

His lower lip had begun to tremble.

“I can’t help him. You know they said not to tell him things, that if… that when he remembers it should be on his own terms. I’m not gonna—hell, he ran the first time I told him, I can only imagine the second…”

“He’s not the Vulcan who went to Gol, not by a long shot. If he doesn’t know what you want, how’s he supposed to know how to act around you?”

“He doesn’t have to act. I don’t want love if it’s out of obligation, Bones, or because he thinks that will make me happy.”

“But it will,” McCoy said quietly.

“No.” Jim squeezed his eyes shut. “Not if it isn’t real. Some kind of sick performance of duty. He doesn’t owe me that. He doesn’t owe me…”

He stopped, feeling McCoy’s hand withdraw. Opening his eyes, he saw Bones was looking over his shoulder, into the hallway passage.

Jim looked around sharply.

Spock stood in the doorway.

He was wearing his meditation robes, a garment of inky black. In the darkness Jim could only see the pale glow of his face, expressionless, inscrutable. The image was ethereal; like the kind of dreams that had scared Jim more, in those months alone, than any other. Dreams that contained only the image of his face, the man that would surely haunt him for all his life.

Jim stood up, felt Bones follow a beat behind. But the figure in the doorway did nothing.

“Spock?”

This was reminding him too much of ghost stories, of emotional human legends that he had never put much faith in. Until, of course, he inhabited one. 

Jim cleared his throat. “Everything alright?”

Spock paced slowly into the room. Then, his brow contracted in a near perfect V, an expression that suggested confusion.

“I am attempting to recall where your food synthesizer is located.” He blinked several times, rotated his head from right to left. “The lack of illumination in the residence is not aiding my efforts.”

The tension dropped from Jim’s shoulders. He released his breath, relief coming out in laughter.

“Of course. Lights seventy percent.”

The automatic lighting system responded.

Rounding the couch, Jim bid Spock to follow as he walked to the synthesizer unit on the far wall.

The glow of the lights revealed the rather sorry state of the apartment. Their suitcases, delivered from the Klingon _Bounty_ , stood unpacked against the wall. A mess of PADD-work across the tables, more than one abandoned mug of coffee littered the foot of the windows.

He could make excuses – they were just back from their travels, there was a lot to do before their next voyage, he just hadn’t had the time to stop and think…

None of them rang particularly true. And certainly not to a Vulcan.

“Ah.” Spock said, simply. “By the window.”

“You know how to use it, I’m sure,” Jim muttered, coming to lean against the thin strip of wall that separated the synthesizer and the window overlooking the Bay.

“It is not a complicated mechanism, captain.”

“No, of course.”

Spock keyed several codes into the synthesizer, forgoing vocal commands. So, silence pressed upon them. Heavy. The slight crackle of the false fireplace could be heard, as could the shifting of McCoy’s boots on the floor.

“I think I’ll head out,” McCoy said, not sounding too certain on it. Looking back, Jim saw he’d taken a step or two in their direction, that familiar diagnostic quality entering his gaze. Probing for answers – hidden injuries. “If that’s all right with you two.”

“Go get some rest, Bones.” Jim offered him a smile. “I’m sure we all need it.”

“Goodnight, doctor.”

Bones nodded at Spock’s quiet words, but didn’t voice the concerns that darkened his gaze. “Take care of yourselves.”

Neither Jim nor Spock offered any response. Maybe because it was growing impossible to make that promise these days.

The synthesizer whirred at his side. Jim turned to the window. The apartment door swished shut behind McCoy, leaving the two alone.

Yes. Alone was the word.

The Bay seemed quiet. It had to be drawing close to midnight, if not past. Only a few lights, pin-pricks at this distance, twinkled around the harbour, the silhouette of the Golden Gate Bridge a pale shadow against the sky. The night air was cold; Jim could feel the chill of the glass through his sleeve, leaning against the windowpane.

“Would you care for some tea, captain?”

The question surprised him. Spock held a small octagonal mug between his hands, which for a moment, Jim thought he was offering to him.

“Ah—no!” Jim raised a belaying hand. “No, thank you, Spock. I usually take coffee.”

Spock frowned. “That would not be advisable, as it is 0018 hours.”

“Even more reason, then. Anyways, I’m not much of a tea drinker.”

It was late. The weight, the tiredness that had been startled out of him by Spock’s appearance was seeping back into his body.

“I should…” He turned, moved away. “I’m gonna…” and mumbled some vague fill-in about ‘getting to bed’ that kept rambling until—

“You do enjoy the ‘peaches and cream’ variety.”

Jim stopped, several feet from the hall entrance. “What did you say?”

“If I recall correctly, you are fond of the ‘peaches and cream’ tea variant.” Spock blinked back at him. “Unless I am mistaken?”

“No.”

Something shifted in his posture. Spock looked to his mug, brow furrowing slightly.

_Remembering_ , Jim realized.

“Peaches and cream, with one teaspoon of sugar, and—”

“Two splashes of milk.”

Jim offered it before he even registered the thought. It was a phrase too human for a half-Vulcan. Distantly, it conjured images of long ago breakfasts in Iowa, his mother letting him dole out the sugar cubes for her coffee.

Spock nodded. “Yes. A very imprecise measurement.”

“So you’ve told me.” Jim smiled, couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to. “I didn’t know tea could be so powerful a mnemonic.”

A measure of vindication lay in the turn of Spock’s mouth.

“Nor did I.”

Was it silly of him? It was no extraordinary feat of recollection, knowing his tea order. Yet, something in Spock’s satisfaction, or else the domesticity it suggested gave Jim great hope.

Perhaps Spock saw this.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Oh, I don’t want any tea, thanks.”

“Not on that subject. In fact, it a matter of…my memory.”

That plunged through Jim’s heart like an anchor.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Have you had a breakthrough?” Jim asked, breathlessly. God, he could only hope.

“I am uncertain that it justifies such a term. More precisely, I seek confirmation.”

“By all means.”

“Thank you, captain.” 

Jim felt his smile falter. “Captain,” he echoed, softly.

Spock frowned. “Do you object to such a title?”

“No, of course not. I’m…aware that’s what I’m to be addressed as from now on.”

Still, Spock did not seem to understand. And perhaps that was predictable. This new version of Spock had sparing memories of the time that led him here. Jim had no idea what he remembered of their five-year mission, of the days when he had been used to Spock calling him captain.

Seeing the questioning stare, Jim shook his head.

“It’s only been two days since the trial. Call me illogical, but I thought you might have the same difficulty adjusting as everyone else. I mean, even Bones has slipped up and said admiral once or twice.”

“They are human. It is common for them to make errors.” And something shifted in his expression. “You were never an admiral to me, Jim.”

It stirred something. A younger version of themselves, a confession that had been buried into an embrace of tears and joy.

_Jim, on Gol, I did not long for an admiral. I longed to be with my captain. With you._

It lodged in his throat, wet and burning. He bit back the urge to say something wildly inappropriate. This was not the Vulcan who went to Gol, or the one who returned. 

He ran a hand over his brow. 

“It’s late. Lights twenty percent.” The room faded at the command. Jim turned and started away. “I should go to bed. Bones showed you your room, didn’t he? It’s down the hall—but you know that. I’m tired. I need to—”

“Jim.”

Again, he stopped, caught. Even if things had changed, Spock’s voice had not. Jim’s resolve had always been ineffective at best against that particular voice, and how it said his name.

He heard Spock pad closer.

“I have been in deep consideration over whether to divulge my thoughts to you. I am in need of your assistance in a fundamental matter of my memory. Permit me to express these uncertainties.”

Jim released a breath. Who was he to deny Spock anything? 

“Alright.”

However, he didn’t turn around, didn’t look back. He held his gaze on Spock’s shadow, cast onto the wall before him, a pale charcoal phantom.

“Jim. You were my first memory. The first vestige of my previous life was your name. I have always known, from this fact, that you were an incomparably important person in my life. Through my self-study, and my conversations with other members of the crew, I have come to understand that we have been close friends. I would like to believe that we maintain a semblance of that friendship still.”

“I think it’s more than a semblance. I’m your friend, Spock. I always will be.”

“And I am yours.”

Jim looked over his shoulder. In the darkness, he couldn’t quite see Spock’s face, but felt him gazing back. A reckless impulse within wanted to bridge the gap between them. Tether the cord that had been cut – hear the song of Spock’s mind and his, their harmony hum beneath his skin.

“Is that what you wanted to ask?” he said, instead.

Spock shook his head. He still cradled his untouched mug of tea, as if it were a meditative aide, a stoic _mudra_.

“This place was familiar to me. Most of my retained memories of a location or a person take time to emerge, and interpret. Yet, I can distinctly recall the time I have spent here.”

Slowly, he stepped forward, set his tea down amongst the PADDs and the cups on the nearby table, the evidence of unfinished work.

“I advised you on the colour of the walls when you first decorated them. I can remember at least seventy two distinct games of chess played at this table – and several times you read Herman Melville to me on that couch. And I remember… other things.”

The vagueness was almost a dare. Insulting in a way. _Ask me what I remember._ A wound that had not healed, a place within Jim still felt the burning sear of loss and furious grief. Jim wanted to turn that hurt outward, make Spock feel a fraction of what he had undergone in his absence.

Jim refrained, but his voice was unkind when he said:

“Get to the point.”

“I do not think Doctor McCoy was correct in showing me my lodgings.”

“What do you mean?”

Lightly, Spock shook his head. “The room at the end of the hall is not mine. Either he intentionally lied, or else he was unaware of the true nature of my previous self.”

“Your true nature? I don’t understand.”

“My phrasing was somewhat reductive.”

Spock looked up from under his lashes, eyes dark and inescapable.

“I might have said the true nature of our relationship.”

Every cell in Jim’s body froze. The pause was not because there was nothing to say, rather that Jim found himself incapable of speech.

“I…” he finally managed. “Spock…!”

Spock walked forward, quickly, and came far closer than their arms-length normal. Jim felt his robe brush against his leg as Spock stopped before him.

“I require confirmation. I must know with certainty what we have been.”

He raised his hand, as though considering whether he should follow through and touch him.

“I believe I was in love with you.”

Something broke. Jim seized him, buried his hands in the soft fabric of Spock’s robe. When Spock did not resist, he pulled him a step closer, to the teetering edge of an embrace.

But Jim had not misheard the statement, nor Spock’s intent. He had not said ‘I am in love with you’.

This was not a confession. It was an inquiry.

“Yes,” he breathed, hanging his head. Defeat. “Yes, and I loved you.”

Cautious hands moved to Jim’s sides, the feeling almost ghostly, unreal. As though Spock doubted the pressure he could take – as though he feared to hurt him.

“You were my…my friend.”

“Brother, lover,” Jim responded, practically through muscle memory alone.

“Then my assumption was correct. My room was not at the end of the hall.”

His hand rose to Jim’s face, and lifted his gaze upward.

“My room was yours.”

Jim’s vision blurred, sharp and watery. This was too much, too close to all he had desired for so long. Yet, this was tenuous, new. A part of him feared, instinctively, that Spock would still recoil, deny this. And he did not have the strength to survive losing Spock again.

“I have shared your bed. Perhaps exclusively.”

Jim began to tremble; shut his eyes. Spock’s fingers against his cheek were maddening. Every cell in his body cried out for those fingers to move onto his meld points, to connect them.

A small low hum.

“You have stopped verbally responding.”

“What more do you want?”

Spock’s hand traced down his cheek, then moved to touch his heart.

“Do you still desire me, Jim?”

And the simple question undid him. Spock seemed to sense it, or perhaps saw him crumble.

“Jim?”

“ _Yes_.”

It was a whimper, an outpouring of tears. It was a betrayal to himself, the burden he had hoped to avoid. But the swell of grief, of all that was lost and unrecovered was too great, and his better intentions, his dignity, his pride were swept away.

He buckled forward, buried his face in his hands.

“Yes, Spock. I love you. I still love you. I—can’t…I can’t—be without you. I need you. And I’ve failed you.”

“How have you failed me?” Spock asked, gently.

“All I’ve done…that I left you on Genesis—I destroyed the Enterprise—”

“Necessary steps.”

“ _No_. You don’t know. In the chamber…when you…you told me not to grieve, but I couldn’t…I failed, I didn’t know what to do with myself, I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop myself from feeling. I might’ve left Starfleet. There was nothing…nothing anywhere but feelings—these stupid—and everything’s changed between us, and I still can’t—I still need you—I need—”

Suddenly, Spock’s arms enfolded him, fierce and protective.

“Jim, I am here. _Ni’droi’ik nar-tor_. Take what you need.”

“Spock,” he gasped, rendered powerless by this embrace. Tangible, real. His hands scrabbled for purchase, gripped his back. “Oh, _Spock_.”

“There is no failure in your feelings. Nor in that your love instructed you to grieve. It was my folly in believing that the theoretical principle of my actions – the knowledge that I had not died in vain – could prevent your suffering. You make me acutely aware of my error.”

This close, Jim could sense the coolness of his skin, his delicate, clean scent, the way their bodies moulded together. It was so familiar – so right. So much so, it made him weep, with an abandon he hadn’t permitted himself since the radiation chamber. He clutched him as if it were life itself. And perhaps he was. If he let go, some instinct told him Spock would no longer be there, would become incorporeal.

Against his back, he felt the gentle pressure of Spock’s hands.

The voices, the questions resurfaced, as emotion commandeered his body. This could not last forever. How could they possibly move forward from this? And why was Spock letting him dissolve, without a word about logic, or dignity, or regulation? Because he was his captain, his superior officer?

Because it was the human thing to do?

He didn’t have the energy to answer. It occurred to him that he had sunk to the floor, onto his knees. Spock sat beside him, still holding on, secure and unflinching.

“I’m sorry,” Jim mumbled, pulling away. He had regained enough conceit to drag a hand over the slick of tears on his face.

“Do not apologize.” Spock’s voice was calm. Jim appreciated that; he had never found sympathetic, tearful responses all that helpful. “You do not disturb me. I hope that I may make amends for the pain I have caused you.”

Jim made a small sound, shook his head. This alone was working wonders.

“Would you allow me to transport you to your bedroom?”

When he looked up, he saw Spock’s brows were knitted together, a measure of genuine concern darkening them.

“You expressed earlier that you were tired. Perhaps I should have listened, and refrained from this dialogue.”

“You don’t need to apologize either. For anything.” Jim placed a hand on Spock’s knee. A laugh bubbled over his lips. “I doubt you remember me being such a basket-case though.”

“The term ‘basket-case’ does not apply to my memory of you. I know you as a man of deep feeling. You are gentle, and sensitive.”

“And I suppose I’m getting even more sensitive in my old age.”

“No. I would not suppose so.”

Jim paused, observed him for a moment. It was not, he realized, simply a matter of semantics. Nor was Spock speaking entirely objectively. The subtext was quite clear. _You are not hysterical, or unwelcome. Your feelings do not frighten me._

It was something that a certain Vulcan first officer might have assured him of, years ago.

“May I escort you to your room, Jim?”

“Yes, you may.” He smiled. “Captain.”

There was no smile in return, but he saw the slight lift of one brow.

They did not speak for the next few minutes – Spock probably knew the exact nanosecond differentials. Helped to his feet, Jim found himself experiencing déjà vu – Spock’s hand in the crook of his elbow, the negotiation of the hallway door, the way their footsteps padded in time with each other on the carpet. They had walked this path many times before. 

A soft amber light flickered on as they crossed the threshold to the bedroom.

How strange. This room, this bed for the past few nights had felt so unbearably empty. But now, watching Spock pace to the opposite end of the room, Jim found sinking into the mattress comfortable, even soothing. The whole room seemed to hum with a cozy domesticity.

“You should probably get to bed too,” Jim murmured, reluctantly, lying back into the pillows.

The question seemed to interrupt Spock’s flow of action. He straightened, usually a sign of discomfort.

“I…I shall. You would prefer me to leave?”

Jim sat up, a little too quickly. “You mean, you want to stay?”

“You would be perfectly within your rights to refuse. We have no precedent, based on our current relationship, to—”

“No, please!” Strangely, for the first time in a long time, Jim felt a blush rise onto his cheeks. He leaned back into the line of pillows at the head of the bed. “I’d, um—prefer it if you stayed.”

Spock nodded. He sat on the bed.

“I am pleased that you accept my company.”

He drew his legs up onto the mattress. Paused. Then shifted closer to the row of pillows, and Jim.

“I was concerned that you would not wish to spend any more time with me this evening. Captain—” he said, pointedly, as Jim made to interrupt. “I did cause you to emotionally collapse. Please do not argue that I did not have a hand in your distress this evening.”

“Maybe a small one.” Jim chuckled. “But I don’t hold it against you.”

A pause. Spock’s hands retracted into his lap. Neither of them seemed to know they wanted to say, or do.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Jim drew his bottom lip into his mouth. What was the right move? Go for it? If it scared Spock away, or upset him, what would he…?

Oh, to hell with this. He’d been waiting for months. Bones had been right; he did believe in optimism, in holding out hope through the hopeless. If there was ever a time to make a move, it was now.

Still. Jim hesitated ten more seconds before taking the plunge.

“Will you hold me again?”

He didn’t look at Spock. No good would come from searching his expression, or trying to read into his silence, decipher a mood, a judgment.

“That’s not an order. If you don’t want to, I mean. I know it’s not very logical. It’s just that I—well, I’d like it if you did.”

“I will hold you.”

Jim glanced up. “Yeah?”

Shifting forward, he placed a hand on Spock’s waist.

“Yes, captain,” Spock murmured. 

He leaned closer. And Spock did not pull away. In fact, he moved a hand to Jim’s upper arm, rolled him forward, until Jim lay against his chest.

At the permission, Jim curled into him.

“I’ve missed you.”

He turned his cheek against the soft plush of Spock’s robe, raised a hand to trace half-hearted patterns over his collar. 

“I know this must be overwhelming. All this life to remember, everyone’s expectations for how you’re supposed to act, or feel. I don’t think I’ve been very helpful in that regard.”

“On the contrary. You have grounded me in the realities of what I have been.”

“Maybe that was foolish. I think I realize now that you’re…well, you’re still Spock, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t changed. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Hell,” he scoffed, “I’m not the man I was a year ago, not by a long shot, but nobody’s batted an eye at me. It wouldn’t be fair to pretend like you have to live up to anybody else’s memory of you.”

A quiet sound came from Spock, which Jim felt more than heard, pressed into his chest.

“I have come to understand that humans often make blanket statements to avoid specific implications. Such as when they are uncomfortable implicating themselves.”

Jim felt a wry grin pull at his lips. Caught.

“If memory serves, I never had that much sway over you anyway. And I’m glad of that. I’ve read Surak. Change is the essential nature of existence. Far be it from me to prevent you from living, second time or not.”

Shifting backward, Jim lifted a hand to Spock’s face. He traced his fingers against his cheek.

“I love you. Whatever comes, whatever changes happen, that will always be true. Even if it means letting you go.”

“You sound certain that I will ask to leave. What do you anticipate I will lack if I remain?”

That was a loaded question, though one that Jim had already answered on his own.

“I’m not the end-all of life in Starfleet. You’ve always been at the forefront of discovery. Maybe it would be better to ask what you stand to gain.”

A furrow of some emotion interrupted the stoic line of Spock’s brow.

“What are you implying, captain?”

“I’m not implying anything. Just that…well, that you can always review your options. After all, there’s ten days before our assignment. Plenty of time to change your…”

What an ironic phrase. _Change your mind._

As good as his intentions were, as much he believed in what he was saying, the words stuck in his throat. It was hard to let someone go a second time.

“Spock." Jim looked down, curled his fingers into his chest. "You don’t owe me anything. Whatever you choose, you have my support. You’re the best damn officer in this ‘Fleet. They’d be foolish to keep you away from any ship you wanted to be on.”

“Including yours?”

That surprised him. Jim looked up, and didn’t see a trace of humour, of sarcasm to accompany the question.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Spock said. His certainty was admirable. “I did not stand beside you at the trial to pay a debt, or out of obligation. I am deeply cognizant, and grateful for what you, and our crew have done for my sake. You are my friends. It would not be tolerable to withdraw from such ideal working relations.”

There was something affirming in that. _Our crew – my friends_. Still, Jim heard his own words from his conversation with Bones playing in his head.

“I wasn’t only speaking about your professional intentions, Spock.”

Bravely, he drifted his hand downward; kissed the corner of Spock’s lips with his fingertips.

For an instant, Jim thought he had gambled correctly. Spock’s lips parted, he felt the slight intake of air. His gaze fluttered to Jim’s hand, head turned a fraction. Memories of prior kisses, the phantom sensation of Spock’s mouth against his palm rushed back to him, as did joy, _relief, love…!_

But Spock flinched away.

“Perhaps we should speak of this in the morning,” he said, his gaze unable to rise above Jim’s chest.

A day, an hour, twenty minutes ago, Jim might have backed off. But he looked down, saw Spock’s hands wind together – anxious – and realized Spock stood at the same precipice he did.

“No.” Jim moved forward, gripped his arm. “Spock, if we don’t talk this out now, we never will. I love you. I can take the truth. Either you love me, or you don’t. Tell me which one it is.”

“Those are not—” Spock cut himself off with a sigh. “It is more complicated than simply how I feel for you.”

“Do you feel for me? Do you love me at all?”

Spock made a sound, dismissive, as if Jim was entirely off the mark. He pulled away, sat up. Jim followed, panic thrumming through him.

“Spock. Tell me the truth. That’s an order.”

“Jim.”

“I let you have your questions. You wanted confirmation – so do I.” He pressed on, moved forward to his side. “If I’m wrong, I’ll let you go. But I think you love me.” 

His eyes shut tight. “Do you intend to force this from me?”

“If I have to. I have a right to know what we are. How am I supposed to have you by my side on a mission if I don’t even know how you feel about me?”

“Please stop.”

“No. I’m not going to stop until—”

“ _Ashayam_ , please!”

The emotion in Spock’s voice would been enough to stop. So, the Vuhlkansu word nearly made time itself stand still.

“ _Ashayam_ ,” Jim echoed, breathlessly. “ _Ash…_ ”

Spock had turned away, his back to Jim, a flimsy barrier. Still, Jim could see his hands trembling, and the slight hitching of his shoulders. This was no confession; at least, not one of love.

Carefully, he traced his hands down Spock’s arms, offering the same tenderness that Spock had given him.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. It was like rediscovering a language. Spock shivered; Jim melted into him, caressing with his whole frame. “My darling.” 

“I love you,” Spock said, weakly. “But I cannot love you.”

“If this is about regulation, or Vulcan propriety—”

“ _No._ ”

The word ached. The sorrow was tangible, sharp enough to wound. It might have frightened Jim, if he had been young, if this had been ten, fifteen years ago, at their first blossoming of love. If he hadn’t felt this kind of pain.

Pressed close, Jim felt a sob rattle through both their frames.

“You were my first memory. You are the most important person in my life. You are my _t’hy’la_!” Spock shook his head, frustrated, almost angry. “I have loved you, even before I remembered why I knew you.”

He turned in Jim’s arms, so that they were forehead to forehead, communing in the same space.

“I have sensed your love for me. I know the sacrifices you have made for my comfort, for the sake of my self-discovery. I grieve them – I hate that I have hurt you. That I have kept you ignorant of what I know. I am ashamed of this deficiency on my part.”

“No.” Jim’s eyes stung once more. “No, Spock. You’re not deficient. And I’m not entitled to you, or anything about you. Your thoughts are yours, whether I’m your _t’hy’la_ or not.”

“I am a fool.” There was a measure of self-loathing in his voice. “A coward. I do feel for you. I do, I am grateful that you love me. I feel it, I want it to continue. And yet…”

Spock’s posture crumpled, his forehead slipped away from Jim’s.

“I am incomplete.”

“Because of your memory?” Jim braced his shoulders. “Or you don’t—want to love me?”

He shook his head; the gesture was feeble. “I am certain of what I feel for you. But it is not enough.”

Spock stood from the bed, walked away.

Jim could sense they’d reached the heart of the issue, the thing that Spock had been building to all night. He rose to his feet, determined to meet Spock on his terms.

“I am in love with you, but it is not the love that you require, nor would it satisfy you. I am…incapable of fulfilling your needs. A relationship with me would therefore prove ineffectual.”

Jim stared at him for a long, long moment. Déjà vu. He felt very much as though he were waiting for a punch line, except the room was empty, and there was no one telling a joke. 

“When you say needs, do you mean desires? Like…biological desires?”

“Yes.” His lip curled. “Biology.”

“So…” Jim stopped. He raised a hand, then lowered it, struggling to find the words through the jumble of thoughts in his head. “Let me just be clear. You love me. But you don’t want to have sex.”

“That is correct.”

“And that’s it?”

Spock turned back, clearly confused.

“Jim. This is not a trivial matter. Intimacy is a key factor in the success of a relationship.”

“Oh, certainly. But is it the only factor we’re missing? Out of everything that’s needed for a relationship, you not wanting to have sex with me is the only problem?”

“I…” His head tilted. It seemed he hadn’t considered that. “To my knowledge, yes. However, it is certainly a possibility that I have overlooked alternate factors of equal importance, that would—mmh!”

His analysis cut off, as Jim pulled him into a long, heated kiss, wrapping his arms around him. Spock went rigid, but slowly, tentatively brought his hands to his waist.

“Meld with me,” Jim breathed when he pulled back, trailing a hand down the nape of Spock’s neck.

A flush of green rushed across his cheeks.

“Captain.” He swallowed hard. “I do not think you understood my point.”

“And I don’t think you have all the facts.” Jim pressed their foreheads together. “The first night you were here. Do you remember? After V’Ger?”

“I recall the Voyager VI incident. But I do not…”

“Spock.”

He grabbed his hands, brought them up to his face.

“Please.”

The dark eyes were still wide, startled, uncertain. But as they held their gaze, Jim saw a measure of trust enter his expression – and how it calmed the flurry of emotion.

Fingers moved onto meld points.

The memory washed over them, a rolling wave. It was seventeen years before.

*

_The moment in sickbay, the joining of their hands had changed everything. Now, here, the door to Jim’s apartment shutting behind them, it was everything they could do not to lose themselves entirely to the other’s touch._

_“God, Spock—” Jim gasped into his lips. His hands were flitting desperately over Spock’s shoulders, his chest, his back. Mapping, remembering – afraid if he moved too slowly he would lose his chance. “Need you—so much.”_

_“T’hy’la.” Warmth, tenderness. If Jim was rushed, needy, Spock’s flowed across his body like water, careful and slowly eroding his fears. “I have been so foolish.”_

_They stilled, clutched each other. Rocking, rocking, together, here, safe—you, my love, with you._

_“Jim… perhaps we should refrain.”_

_Jim recoiled. “If you think you’re leaving again—”_

_“No, Jim.” He produced a small huff. “I have no intention of leaving your side.”_

_“Then what’s stopping us? Starfleet can’t touch us between missions – and I wouldn’t care even if they could. We have the rest of our lives. Together, Spock. You’re…” Jim hugged him, kissed his cheek. “You’re everything I want.”_

_“Jim.”_

_Spock’s arms snaked around his waist._

_“Jim, I am asexual.”_

_A silence._

_Spock lowered his head, pressed against his shoulder._

_“I love you. But I cannot please you. I knew this three years ago, it is…partly why I could not permit myself to remain with you. I knew you desired me, I knew if I stayed I would be unable to refuse your attentions, and that would lead you to discover this, this…I thought I could spare you the pain of what I lack. But I love you. I cannot be without you. Yet I cannot yield, or change the way in which I love you. I—I am sorry for it.”_

_“No, Spock. I don’t need apologies. And, once again, I think your logic didn’t quite gather all the facts.” Jim turned his lips to Spock’s ear. “You think you aren’t pleasing me right now?”_

_Spock pulled back, sharply. A shine of hope and unshed tears in his eyes, as he scanned Jim, searched for confirmation. “You…would be willing…?”_

_“More than willing.” Jim traced fingers over Spock's lips. “God, how I love you.”_

_Spock seized him, plunged them into a kiss deep as the ocean, one that rang music into their veins, and lasted, and lasted, and lasted, and—_

*

And that had been then.

Now rushed back, like a sudden surfacing from the waters of time, the shock of breaching the air. Their bedroom, the age, the years between swept back over him.

Jim was much older now, yet he felt strangely young.

Spock stood several feet away. He seemed to have been the one to disconnect, though his hands still hung in the air, fingers spread in the shape of a meld that no longer occurred.

"Are you ok?" 

Spock nodded, absently. "I am attempting to interpret the information you have just provided me." 

His eyes held an emotion Jim did not recognize.

Seventeen years ago, information would have been irrelevant. A revelation like this, as in the moment they had just witnessed, would have sent them crashing together, searing with passion, with reckless, desperate emotion.

In the back of his mind, as distant as a dream upon waking, Jim felt the slightest flutter of the meld, a remnant of a tether that had once knotted them together. Their bond clearly had seized any chance to re-establish itself. It was not strong, not formalized by any stretch. Yet, Jim could feel a tremor of _doubt, questioning, fear_ at the back of his mind. It was clear, even without words, that the meld had not offered the comfort Jim had hoped.

Cautiously, he took a step forward.

“What I offered then still stands, Spock. Having you here is what matters, not sex. You and I, together.”

“No.”

The hands dropped. Spock appeared to return to the present, escape his thoughts.

“No, Jim. Your offer cannot stand. The foundation on which it was built does not remain consistent. It is therefore void.”

“Then make me a counter offer. I’ll negotiate.”

A small shake of the head. “I do not know what you desire of me. You say you wish us to be together. That is vague. I require exactitude. Please explain your specific desires, and I will be able to respond.”

“Alright.”

Exactitude. Ok. Jim swallowed, trying to filter through his thoughts. How could he explain everything he had felt, longed for, needed in the past two months? And how to phrase it diplomatically – constructively?

“I… want you to come on the next mission with me, whatever it is. To be my first officer again.”

At the lack of refusal, or argument, Jim found some certainty in what he was saying.

“As a matter of fact, I want you to stay with me. Live with me. Build a life here, or somewhere, anywhere you’d like. I don’t want to be apart from you.”

A frown creased Spock’s brow. “This is not all you want.”

“No.” Jim’s breath had risen into his chest, came shallowly. “I…I want permission to love you. To touch you,” he added, at Spock’s look of confusion, “I want to hold you, demonstrate what I feel with my hands. I want to meld with you. I want our minds to join, as they once did. I want to kiss you. God, I want to taste your lips again – and feel you tasting mine.”

“Jim.”

In the rolling boil of emotion that talking had spurred, that the words had inflicted within him, Jim heard the name as a confirmation, encouragement. He sprung forward, seized Spock’s arms.

“Yes. That’s it. That’s what I want most. Your want.”

“My want?”

Jim nodded. “Your desires. Your willingness. I want you to touch me – because it’s what _you_ want. Not out of obligation, or memory, or compensation. Because it’s what you feel like doing. Because you love me back.”

Spock looked down at Jim’s hands. Then, Spock brought his own hands upward, and for wild moment, feeling those hands grasp his wrists, Jim felt a phantom thrill of electricity through his veins, the echoed touching of two minds.

His hands were taken off Spock’s arms. Then Spock’s touch released.

“I am grateful for your honesty.”

Jim’s heart sunk.

“You don’t want any of that, do you?” he surmised, looking over his solemn expression. “You don’t want me.”

“That is a somewhat premature judgment. And not entirely correct.”

He gestured toward the bed. Jim got the hint.

They lowered together onto the edge of the mattress. It reminded him of the old performance review sessions they used to have, always at the end of the night; too tired to argue the finer points, or consider avoiding the work ahead of them.

“I am still in love with you. You remain my _t’hy’la_ , and I shall always be your friend.”

Spock glanced down into the space between them.

“I did not remember what you showed me in the mind meld. I am grateful for what you said seventeen years ago, and what you have demonstrated more recently of your regard for me. Your love is appreciated, and returned.”

A little hum escaped Jim’s lips. “However.”

“However,” Spock echoed. “I do not identify with the man in that memory, of that version of myself. I am not…so physical, nor so desperate to receive acts of affection. In fact, I have found myself struggling to understand such urges at all, or to comprehend how I feel when they are bestowed upon me. Your kiss, for example; I find that I am unable to process my feelings toward it. At the moment, I would classify it as startling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

But Spock shook his head.

“I do not think I require an apology. It was simply confusing for me. I do not think I have fully comprehended my associations with physical intimacy, both prior or current. However, I am of the belief that if I develop an inclination for affectionate behaviour, I will want to receive it from you.”

“I’m not…” Jim gnawed at his lip, unsure what to make of all this. “So, you don’t want my affection right now. But maybe in the future. And you’re fine with how I feel about you.”

“That is correct.”

“Ok. Where do we go from here?”

Perhaps that was a bigger question than Spock could answer. His expression furrowed once more, he turned and looked into the room.

“I believe we should go to bed.”

A pause. The time display on the dresser showed 01:45.

Jim exhaled in laughter. “You know, you’re probably right.”

He stood up, walked around to the other side of the bed.

“Captain—ah, Jim? Would it be appropriate for me to spend the evening with you?”

A hand on the covers, Jim stopped. “You mean, sleep together?”

“Yes.” Spock blinked. “Not in the pejorative sense, of course.”

“Oh, no, of course not!” Jim nodded. “Yes. Yes, you can.”

They slid beneath the covers.

Well, it was certainly different. Jim took a rather stiff, self-contained position on his side of the bed, looking up at the ceiling. In his periphery, he thought he saw Spock take a suspiciously similar one, perhaps mirroring him, letting him take the lead. The bed seemed a lot smaller than it ever had before too. They were practically shoulder-to-shoulder.

Or maybe Jim had just been getting used to sleeping alone. 

“Lights to zero.”

The room fell to darkness. With it, came a thick, and unavoidable silence, pressing down with the weight of the man next to him. All that broke it was the occasional intake of breath, and the thoughts in Jim’s head.

He rolled onto his side, faced away.

And felt Spock turn after him.

“Spock?”

“Is this acceptable?” he asked, sounding somewhat unsure. “I will face in the opposite direction, if that is preferable.”

“Oh. No, that’s alright. This is fine.”

And actually, he wasn’t just saying that.

Letting the silence wash over him, Jim thought back through their conversation, the emotional impulses that had arose, the reality of what Spock was asking of him, of what this new offer meant.

He _was_ fine with this.

Did it hurt to know Spock didn’t want him the same way? Yes. A part of him still wanted to turn, to pull himself into Spock’s arms, to drown in touch, kisses, physical satisfaction. But another part, bigger, and one that felt more self-assured, reminded himself what Spock had said. He was unsure about touch – not repulsed, or frightened by it. He was willing to stay at his side, hell, to stay in his bed. Spock needed more time to think, to understand what he wanted from their relationship. Yes, their relationship. Because Spock did want him. Spock was choosing him. 

And really, through the months of agony and loneliness and desperation, what had Jim wanted? To make out? To run his hands over Spock’s body? No. Things had been much simpler. In those empty hours, Jim would’ve died a hundred times just to have heard Spock’s voice, seen the quirk of his brow, or leaned against his shoulder.

He had found it all again, and more. So much more. Jim still loved him; doubted if he would ever stop.

This would be enough. He would make it enough. 

Behind him, Jim felt the mattress dip, the slip of the covers over his torso. Spock’s head tucked into the space at the hollow of Jim’s neck. Not touching, but close enough that Jim felt him sigh.

A gesture of surrender, and comfort, and trust.

Of love.

*

Life rolled onward.

The morning sun danced off the water of the Bay, making it hard to see the scientific progress happening about a quarter mile off. Today was the first day of the newly commissioned Federation study on whale behaviour. It was only fitting that the crew that had transported the subjects of the study to the present day should watch.

At one end of the fencing that separated the banks of the Bay from the shore, Sulu, Scotty, Chekov, and Uhura stood in a group, elbowing each other and pointing out the dark shadows moving beneath the surface of the water. They were talking, and laughing, and in their relaxed postures, Jim saw their relief.

It had been a while since they had all been this happy. 

Jim stood a few feet away, arms folded on the rail. From this vantage, he could just make out the movement on the research ship sailing beside George and Gracie. A faint form on-board was darting back and forth amongst the scientists. It couldn’t be anyone else but Dr. Gillian Taylor.

“I think Dawson’s gonna fire his research team after this.” Beside him, McCoy clucked his tongue, squinting as he adjusted his binoculars. “Three hundred years of information at her disadvantage, and she’s still better than half his interns.”

“Never mind interns; I bet she’ll head the whole division by next quarter.”

McCoy chuckled. “She’s a ringer, alright.”

A spray shot from the waters, an exhalation from one of the whales’ blowhole. A large friendly tail rose from the water, slapped down again, drawing a few cheers from the assembled crew.

He felt McCoy inch a little closer.

“So. How’d everything, uh…?”

He looked over. McCoy raised his eyebrows in place of words.

“With Spock?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, fine,” Jim said airily. “We talked things over.”

McCoy’s expression bunched up like an accordion – a mix of surprise and concern.

“And what’d Spock say? Is he staying?”

“Yes. Ooh.” Jim nudged him, nodding toward the research boat, now turning in the water. “I think they’ve finished setting up the sensor array.”

“Jim.” A familiar concern coloured his voice. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Bones.”

“Don’t you ‘Bones’ me. You were in no state when I left to be gettin’ into any kind of conversation with that Vulcan.”

Jim glanced over at him. McCoy’s bottom lip stuck out, as it did when he was acting particularly righteous (or when he felt things were getting too logical).

“ _That Vulcan_ will be coming back soon, so _shh_. You’re not going to earn me any favours by mouthing off about him.”

“Who’s mouthing off?”

Lifting the binoculars again, McCoy seemed inclined to take the high road. Until a few seconds later, when he muttered, “Well, he better not’ve tried anything, is all. You can’t take the strain.”

That made Jim burst out laughing.

“You’re really something, Bonesy. I would’ve thought that sharing souls would have made you more sympathetic to his cause. But I suppose you wouldn’t learn anything walking a mile in his shoes.”

“I’ve walked ten miles in those shoes. And it made my feet hurt.” McCoy gave an irascible non-verbal. “Don’t pretend like you’ve recovered your constitution. I saw how cut up you were last night. You captains are all the same – all diplomacy in the day time, and all agony in private. I’ll bet Spock didn’t give you any answers about your future.”

There was a lot Jim could have said to that. Because he didn’t feel in the dark any more, nor so alone.

But at the same turn, McCoy wasn’t wrong.

“Nobody knows what the future holds,” Jim said. He looked up to the sky, the fresh blue, and grinned. “That’s what makes it exciting.”

“Hmph.” Bones turned back to his binoculars. “Well, I’ll be watching him today. If that Vulcan tries to provoke you, or makes so much as one equivocation about tee-hee-lahs or whatever you call it—”

“Doctor, I assure you, I am not in the habit of equivocating.”

Both Jim and Bones turned around, the doctor with a good deal more alarm than the captain.

Spock had returned from his trek to the park’s café. As if to further indicate it, he raised the tray of drinks in his hands.

One elegant brow rose. “I believe yours was the ‘sweet’ tea?”

“The hell it was.” McCoy snatched the replicated cup out of his hands with a distinct grouchiness, adding in a mutter, “Goddamn Vulcans, don’t even have the decency not to sneak up on ya.”

“You’re just in time,” Jim said, with a grin, patting the railing beside him. “The scan should be starting soon.”

“Most fortunate timing.”

Spock positioned himself at his side, looked out over the Bay. The sunlight cast over his face, caught the faint sparkle of his eyeshadow.

“This event should be well suited to our amateur observation, and of some historic merit. It is after all the first such tests to be performed on humpbacks in nearly two centuries.”

“Must have your Vulcan heart all a tizzy.”

Spock narrowed his gaze at McCoy. “No. But I am looking forward to reading the conclusions of Dr. Taylor’s research team.”

Jim grinned. Spock knew as well as they did that it was Dawson’s team. But clearly, even logic judged Gillian Taylor a fitter scientist for publication.

McCoy sniffed. “Do you think they’ll be able to replicate whatever that probe was saying to the whales?”

“Replication of the alien communication is not the only goal of the study. The method was entirely unknown to us, and it is unclear whether such communications would work with other cetaceous species, or indeed any other species on Earth.”

“It’s really amazing how little we know about our own world, considering all the progress we’ve made.”

“Indeed, captain. This may be a significant step toward the next frontier of scientific research.”

“Maybe.” McCoy looked somewhat wary. “But I hope you two aren’t thinking what I think you are. Because I’m not practicing any medicine underwater.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Bones.” Jim smiled. “A little change of scenery might be good for us.”

A little ways down, the cluster of the crew gave a chorus of ‘oohs’ as a flicker of scanner activity shot over the water.

Jim glanced to Spock, watched him observe the movement of the whales beneath the water with rapt attention.

He had seen this before. Less than a week ago. Three hundred years. They had probably passed this spot, leaned on a long removed railing like this one, and the paradox made time and space seem very impermanent, difficult to grasp.

Change.

He and Spock hadn’t really spoken since last night, or since they had woken up together. They had skirted each other all morning, shared only fleeting looks, trivial conversation, the occasional dared smile. Part of him wondered if Bones was right to doubt Spock’s consistency, his intentions.

Spock spotted his gaze. A frown, then—

“Ah.” Spock took a cup off the tray, placed it before Jim on the railing. “My apologies. I neglected to give you your drink.”

“Oh.” Jim wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind that was important. So, he accepted the cup instead. “Thank you, Spock.”

A hum from over the water. They turned to the water, the research vessel. Its sensor panels were giving off a white light, charging with energy. Then, with a hiss, a crackle, a spray of particle beams dispersed across the water, like scattered gemstones. Washes of colour, rippling rainbow hues rolled back and forth between the ship and the shadows below.

“Golly,” McCoy said, softly, at Jim’s side. He nodded. It was quite breath-taking.

“They’ll be running the scanners like that for hours.”

“Three hours and forty two minutes, captain.”

“Amazing.” McCoy leaned forward onto the railing, sighing contently. “All those colours. I always wondered what fireworks would look like in the daytime.”

A humpback tail lifted from the water, curved side to side. Playful, almost. Joyous. It splashed with the freedom of a child on its own turf, at home.

Jim took a sip of his drink.

And nearly spat it out.

Both Spock and Bones turned to him immediately.

“Captain?”

“What’s wrong, Jim?”

“Guh!” Jim pulled a face. “I thought this was supposed to be coffee.”

McCoy smacked the railing, switching into his default outrage.

“Dammit Spock! It hasn’t been a week back on Earth, and you’ve already tried to poison him with yer Vulcan hocus pocus—”

“Doctor, do not be absurd.”

“What is this?”

Jim opened the lid. The liquid inside was not the dark pool of caffeine he had been expecting at all. Instead, a pale pink blend waited within, the corners of a sachet bobbing at the surface.

“Tea?”

Spock nodded, when he looked up.

“I apologize. You did not specify beyond ‘your usual favourite’ when I asked you for your drink order. Perhaps I misunderstood.”

Jim looked to it again. Then, something clicked.

“Peaches and cream.”

McCoy made a noise of confusion. “What?”

“With two splashes of milk.”

Spock nodded, tilting his head. “I was uncertain how to translate ‘splashes’ into millilitre form.”

“Spock.” Jim found himself beaming, a laugh bubbled over his lips. “You remembered.”

Something shifted in Spock’s composure, or perhaps that was just Jim’s imagination. But the corners of his mouth were definitely lifted, and his voice was rather softer than it had been when he said:

“I would not forget something so important, Jim.”

A loud groan sounded beside them.

When they looked around, McCoy was gazing tiredly back.

“I don’t know why I even bothered to worry.” Rolling his eyes, he pushed off the railing. “I should’ve known it wouldn’t take long. You two and your damn true love. So much for all that Vulcan training, huh, Spock?”

“I am sure I do not understand you.”

“’Course not.”

McCoy chuckled, in spite of himself. He clapped Jim on the shoulder, as he walked past.

“I’m gonna see what the crew’s up to down the line. You’ll have your privacy to grope each other, or whatever you two geezers like to do. Just try to wait ‘til I’m out of eyeshot, alright?”

He strolled off towards the rest of the crew. If Jim hadn’t been chuckling already, the look of bewilderment Spock sent him certainly helped.

“Captain, I truly do not understand what Doctor McCoy means.”

“Believe or not, Mr. Spock, I think that was his way of saying he’s happy for us.”

“Fascinating.” Spock tilted his head, cataloguing the information. “An entirely illogical method.”

Jim grinned. At least some things hadn’t changed.

A splash from the Bay. George and Gracie rose from the water, breaching in a fluid, twin arc. Symbiotic. It was sometimes hard to believe that so much celestial beauty could be found down here. But Jim supposed there was beauty to be found everywhere, if one looked with the right lens.

There was a little push against his mind; a feeling of warmth and experimental curiosity from Spock. Their arms brushed against each other.

“I’m glad they’re home,” Jim murmured.

“As am I.”

A pause. Jim breathed in and out, fixing his gaze upon the water, the rainbow effect of the scanners. He didn’t notice the movement at his side, until Spock’s pale sleeve passed his peripheral.

And he felt Spock’s palm cover the back of his hand.

Jim drew a sharp breath, but froze, did nothing. Then, when the hand remained, he looked up.

Spock’s eyes were dark, and still more uncertain than Jim had once known them. But they did not scrutinize, or search his face. Nor did they evade his gaze.

On the contrary, actually. This gaze was steady, bright.

Spock’s hand tightened over his. “I am also glad to be home with you.”

Permission, Jim remembered. He had asked Spock for permission to love him. A cord was knotting itself in his mind, a host of feelings filtering through the contact. Hesitant, somewhat afraid, yes. But persistent. Hopeful.

Tender.

“Yes,” Jim whispered. He turned his hand, let their fingers intertwine. “We’re together now, _ashayam_.”

It was enough.

Looking out to the waters, he could see the vast expanse of the sky, echoed in this small mirror of the waters deep. The rainbow wash of the scanners, of human ingenuity and inquisitiveness spread like a blanket above George and Gracie, and the untold secrets of Earth’s unremembered past.

A lot of work remained. This afternoon was just the beginning, perhaps the first of three hundred afternoons, or three thousand more before they knew the truth of the alien probe. And perhaps they would never find the answer.

Yet, somehow, Jim was unafraid of such a prospect. If there was so much left to find on Earth, who knew what might wait for them up there, beyond the sky? 

They had the time. He squeezed Spock’s hand. There was so much time.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation:
> 
> Ni’droi’ik nar-tor - I'm sorry (literally to ask forgiveness)


End file.
